


Episode 1: Alpha 16

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Space Oddities Season 1: [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Anal Sex, Bottom Scott, IN SPACE!, M/M, Power Bottom Scott, Science Fiction, Sciles, Sex, Smut, Space Opera, Top Stiles, space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:32:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7171346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After months of being cooped up on a run down trading ship, wandering aimlessly through deep space, Stiles is looking forward to some shore leave. Even a run down space station like Alpha 16 should have some sort of entertainment, especially in the form of a young, hot bartender named Scott.</p><p>Or, scifi Sciles in Space!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our sandbox science fiction space story. We'll be posting things in short episodes all grouped under seasons to break up the different story arcs. There's no real end in mind, this is more of an ongoing series of short stories featuring our two idiot boys set in a huge scifi universe. Enjoy~

There weren’t any windows in the cramped merchant ship. Even heavily reinforced viewsteel was a weakness in a firefight and the old ship wasn’t some fancy cruise liner boasting touristy photo-ops. Even if there had been windows, there wasn’t much to see. The space station was ancient and falling apart, cobbled together from old ships and borrowed parts to keep the crap heap functioning. This was the ass-end of the galaxy, which was exactly how Stiles wanted it.

There was a war raging between the Galactic Government and some ragged group of freedom fighters or terrorists, depending on what side of the propaganda you were on. Even though the fighting kept swallowing up star system after star system, there were plenty of places like this, far away from the conflict where a man could disappear.

Most people in a place like this were criminals of some kind, Stiles had known his fair share. The merchant ship was mostly above board, but no legitimate trader had an illegal weapons system on par with a military frigate. The Captain didn’t offer any explanation and Stiles didn’t question. 

He’d been stuck on this tin can for months without a break, but he didn’t think Station Alpha 16 was much for shore leave. If he was lucky, they might have enough civilization on board to offer a good drink, edible food, and maybe a quick fuck to work out some of his pent up frustration without catching a knife in the back from someone looking to steal whatever credits he’d shoved in his pockets. 

Nowadays, there weren’t as many as he would have liked, but he supposed that was an occupational hazard he’d have to deal with. It was the price he paid to stick to the straight and narrow. No one ever got rich doing what they were supposed to.

But if he was  _really_ lucky, he’d be able to find a more profitable gig than copper scrapping in a hulking monstrosity of a glorified garbage dump. Stiles had survived three whole light years on it, without anyone trying to bash his head in. No one was more surprised than he was. It had to be some kind of record. The people who’d previously held it were firmly in the head-bashers category now. 

The merchant ship descended into Alpha 16′s docking bay with thick blue smoke billowing from its thrusters, its power core stabilizers pointedly unstable. It didn’t matter that Stiles didn’t like it or anyone on it. At this point, shooting it into outer space would be putting the ship out of its misery.

He kept his head down as they disembarked, his meager earnings hidden in a false pocked on the inside of his coat, and pointedly ignored how the Captain paid off the banksman before he could ask about crew papers.

It was the smell that assaulted him first, overheated metal, engine exhaust, and the unwashed bodies of too many different species. The docking bay was the worst, the crush of people almost unbearable as Stiles fought to get through the crowd to the main corridors of the space station. 

Most of them looked like refugees, squatting in whatever bit of free space they could find and constantly chased away from the shops further inside. It wasn’t a surprise, the flood of refugees was almost unending, even this far from the conflict. Humans were in short supply and Stiles held his breath as he forced his way through the mob, keeping a close hand on his belongings.

He finally made it through and stopped, taking in the creaking infrastructure of the space station. It opened into a wide space ringed in small shops and grimy restaurants. Additional floors stretched out above and below, but after a quick look to see how far the station descended, he kept well back from the rail. In a place like this, he doubted there were any safety features to keep him from plummeting down to the bottom. It wasn’t anything like the pleasure palaces of Maldroth IV, but it was better than being cooped up on that ship for another day and best of all, no one here would look too closely at some grizzled spacer.

Old clunkers like Alpha 16 bred a bizarre sort of familiarity. All of them were the same dull, unwashed grey. The Jasceotine they use to keep rust corrosion away was always diluted and left the whole place stinking like week-old garbage. The only way to make it any better was to throw bleach on the whole thing, and really, ‘better’ was all relative.

There were the same beings everywhere, the peddlers with their counterfeit docs, the beggars that clogged the lower levels, the big shots that ate in the only decent restaurant on the entire station.

Less than ten minutes in, Stiles felt like he’d been to Alpha 16 a thousand times before.

He turned the corner - and promptly got lost.

“Um.”

It took Stiles a second to name what his mind already had him bowing to. He’d found himself face to face in a pocket-sized hole bearing the emblem of a splintered cross and crescent. There must have been enough humans on the station at one point if it had warranted one of their temples.

A shrill laugh made Stiles tense, his gloved hand curling into a fist before he placed the source.

“If you’re looking for a priest, human, the closest thing we’ve got’s the hot bartender at Aegis. If you’re really lucky after you confess your sins to him, he’ll take you home and absolve you.”

It was a dopey-looking, short human with big brown eyes. Stiles squinted. It took the spacer a beat longer to see through the Glolium’s disguise. Low-wave telepathy gave them the least intimidating appearance of whoever they spoke to. Also the ability to never lose their socks.

“I’m looking for a job.”

“Scott’s got those, too.”

Scott huh? That sounded almost Earthling. Just as Stiles turned to go, the Glolium clicked its massive talons, looking at him pointedly. “Information don’t come free, human.”

Stiles didn’t look back. “I’ll pay up if Scott’s as hot as you said he is.”

Stiles wasn’t familiar with that particular dialect of Glolium, but he always recognized when someone spoke douchebag.

Aegis was easy to find, it was a popular spot on this scrap heap and Stiles had to shoulder his way to the bar and fight for a perch at the end. Even though it was crowded and run down, there was a sense of cleanliness and efficiency that no doubt set it apart from all the other bars on the station. Or maybe it was the smile from the man behind the counter as he deftly mixed drinks and chatted with customers.

Now that was a man who seemed out of place.

If that was Scott, then Stiles could see what the Glolium was talking about. The human was young and there was something about the way he laughed that could even brighten up the greasy metal walls. It took a moment before Stiles realized why, he was the first person Stiles had seen on Alpha 16 that actually looked happy. The bartender called out to friends, his cheerfulness infectious. It was like a bright light spilling good humor across the dour faces of the bar patrons, setting them at ease.

Stiles wasn’t sure he could trust it. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see if the young man’s image would waiver or if his friendly air was due to some sort of subtle mental or emotional manipulation. A subtle scan didn’t detect anything nefarious and he was so distracted that he didn’t notice that the man had moved until he looked up and found himself pinned by a set of dark, warm eyes.

“You know, I always prefer someone who at least introduces themselves before they give me a full body scan.”

Those plush lips twisted into a wry grin and Stiles found himself echoing the smile, caught up in the bartender’s obvious charm.  “With a figure like that, you can’t blame me for wanting a closer look.”

The bartender snorted a laugh and leaned back. “You’ve been cooped up for too long, Spacer. How about I get you a drink while you think of a better line to use.”

“Lucky for you, I’ve had the time to think of a million of them.” Stiles leered. “How about you get me a Derelian ale?”

Scott groaned. “I hope you get better after drinking because you can’t get much worse.”

“And I heard the company was good around here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the company, except every now and then we get cocky spacers with terrible pick up lines.” That damn smile was back, and Stiles found himself returning it. He’d seen many a wanderer waste their last credit trying to chase a smile like that, and he wasn’t about to, but he thought about it just a little too long.

Scott slid a keg of something murky and brown across the counter without asking if Stiles was good for it. The spacer liked him just a little bit more for that. “You know, I didn’t come all this way just to impress you.”

“Good. I’d hate to disappoint you.”

Stiles laughed, surprised and delighted and he had to hide his face in his mug before it did something stupid. “You’re a dick. You know that?”

“Sorry.” Scott answered, and didn’t sound even slightly apologetic. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for a job.”

For the first time that night, it felt like Stiles saw something beyond that cheerful grin. Scott’s gaze was assessing and direct. Stiles fought the urge to sit up straighter. “You and about half this quadrant. What can you do?”

“Make your panties disappear?”

 “Who says I’m wearing any?”

Stiles choked on the ale and sputtered a cough while the bartender just calmly cleaned up the mess. Even Scott’s silence felt smug and Stiles didn’t know if he wanted to smack that grin off the bartender’s face or make it wider.

“I’m serious.” Stiles tried to salvage his ego. “I’m looked to earn a few credits, all above board. I’m kind of the best mechanic you’ve ever met.”

“Mmhmm, if you do say so yourself.”

“I am saying so. I’m TEC certified and all.” He bragged and was disappointed when the weighty credentials sailed right over Scott’s head.

Scott just shrugged one shoulder and handed a drink to a shy patron who coyly waved a tentacle in thanks. “No one cares about that around here. Is it even a real thing?”

“Real enough to anyone who wants to check!” He said, starting to get annoyed. “That’s kind of a big deal you know.”

“I’m sort of used to people telling me how big their  _deal_  is.” The smile faltered again and Scott sighed, leaning over the counter to keep an eye on the rest of the bar.

“I can ask around, but there’s a lot of refugees that keep pouring in and there’s not enough to go around anymore. A lot of them get stuck here. Your best bet is to try and use your skills to barter your way out of here, Spacer. If you’re as good as you say, you might get lucky. I can put out the word to a couple of crews I know if you’d like?”

Stiles fixed the bartender with a pointed look. Despite what he felt, this had been almost too easy. He suspected Scott would throw in a finder’s fee once this was all done. It was just nice that he hadn’t done so yet. “Thanks. Don’t take this the wrong way, but this isn’t the sort of place I’m looking to stay in for long.”

“Not fancy enough for you?”

“Not home.” The answer slipped out before Stiles could figure out if it belonged. He instinctively wished he could take it back, but Scott’s tone stayed light. Stiles appreciated that.

“I hear those are going out of style anyway.”

The spacer raised his glass as if in agreement, but the ale tasted flat. He still finished it in a greedy gulp before handing his credits over. Scott said nothing about the damaged bioinfomatic scanner that was too broken to verify DNA during the purchase. Stiles didn’t think it was because the bartender didn’t notice. He left a tip, nothing too desperate and didn’t even feel bad about it. After he turned to leave, he honestly did not expect Scott to call after him.

“Hey, Big Shot.”

Nor did he mean to hold his breath.

“If you don’t have a place to stay, Zda’alt on third has rooms. As long’s your credit’s good.”

Stiles almost tossed out an offer to share a room, but swallowed his line and nodded his thanks, but the bartender had already moved on, sharing a laughing conversation with a woman down at the other end of the bar. He felt a bit like he’d stumbled, but it was probably just the fact he was out of practice. Not a lot of opportunity to use his considerable skills on a sixth month voyage with a crew of four. With a whole space station to choose from, his prospects were looking much better.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days later, Stiles slammed himself onto a stool at Aegis with a frustrated sigh. His prospects _sucked_. Scott hadn’t been kidding, the whole place was teeming with desperate refugees who’d gotten this far and didn’t have enough credits or skills to get themselves off this godforsaken heap. Everyone needed a job and there just wasn’t enough to go around. There wasn’t enough space, temporary tent towns took over every corridor and unused space, and more people kept coming every day. It was amazing that Alpha 16 was still functioning with the strain on its resources.

A glass thunked in front of him before he’d even had a chance to order and Stiles found himself looking up into Scott’s smiling face.

“You look unhappy, Spacer. That one’s on the house.”

“Yeah, well you look-” Stiles wasn’t sure if he’d wanted to flirt or snap, or a mixture of the two, a special technique he was developing that he called ‘The Flap.’ It didn’t matter. Anything he would have said died on his tongue. Scott looked like shit.

“Tired? Gross? Like I went a couple of rounds with a Ilorp slug?”

“Damp.” Stiles said sympathetically, because that about covered all of the above. There was a streak of oil across Scott’s cheek. His entire left sleeve was covered in brown stains, and everywhere he went, his shoes squeaked soggily. “What happened?”

For a second it looked like Scott was going to put his head down on the bar, too, and then they’d both be screwed. With what looked like a monumental effort, he cracked his neck and sighed. “I don’t…know? The dispensers urgh. Exploded. My waiter called in sick. Byex got her arm stuck in the grate trying to reach a couple of busted pipes, we only just got her out of it, and maintenance is supposed to be here some time in the next - century.”

Scott held out his hands, like Stiles had some kind of answer to how to fix all of this. Stiles considered him carefully and nodded.

“You know, Scott. I’ve actually had a pretty good day.”

The bartender laughed and reached across the table to steal Stiles’s beer.

“Then maybe I need this more than you.” He took a long swallow and Stiles was shameless in the way he watched the muscles of Scott’s neck move.

“So…I could take a look at that dispenser for you. Maybe show off some of those mechanic skills I told you about?” Stiles felt like his mojo was back. There was nothing better than having the skills to swoop in and save the handsome bartender in need, he was pretty sure he read that in a fairy tale once before. Besides, impressing someone with connections on the station might go a long way in finding a job. Scott had said he’d help him, but a demonstration of his skills might be help to convince him.

“Dude, if you can get things working before the dinner rush, I’ll owe you big.”

“Why didn’t you say that?” Stiles laughed and ducked under the bar before Scott could protest, leaning in close to give his best leering grin. “I think I’d like you owing me a favor.”

Scott tolled his eyes and gave Stiles a shove towards the broken dispensers, but he couldn’t keep from smiling. “There’s tools in under the shelf there, but I don’t know if there’s anything that you’ll need.” He grabbed a towel and started trying to dry himself off as Stiles went to work. The whole back area behind the bar was flooded and Scott was soaked down into his shoes that squelched loudly every time he took a step. “Is it bad?”

“Could be worse.” Stiles grimaced, smearing a greasy hand on his pant-leg as he looked over the ancient machine. “Definitely could be better. It’s not hopeless though.”

It could be a lot better, Stiles thought as he examined the tool box. It was basic set that had seen better days. He couldn’t tell when the laser cutter had been calibrated. The universal tool was stuck on three settings, and the nugwrench was jammed, but Stiles had worked with worse. He could tell Scott that story when it wouldn’t seem like he was bragging, even if he totally planned to. Brag, that is.

He would probably have to burn his shoes. There was no telling when the pipes had been flushed or what they’d been filled with before everything went to heck. The grate over the dispenser piping was gone. Stiles settled in and resigned himself to being even grosser than usual.

It was a lot of work. Over the years, the dispensers had been modified within an inch of their life. There were nugs where there shouldn’t have been nugs and pipes that went nowhere and so much tubing Stiles almost drowned in it. A few hours into the job, a sandwich on a little stool appeared beside him. Stiles looked at Scott like he hung the stars.

“Thanks I should be done in twenty.”

Then he got smacked in the face by a blast of rinse water.

Scott howled as Stiles sputtered indignantly, quickly tightening one of the pipes to stop the spray. He surged up to his feet with a gasp, slipping on the puddle on the floor and sending a dark glare over at the bartender, but Scott’s laugh was infectious and Stiles finally chuckled. He laughed even harder when he pounced on the other man.

“No no no nono, I was just starting to dry!” Scott shrieked as Stiles rubbed his dripping self across him and finally gave up with a sigh. “You’re so gross.”

“But I fixed it.”

“Yeah, you fixed it and you basically destroyed my bar in the process.”

“Hey, I think you mean, thank you, you’re the best mechanic I’ve ever seen?” Stiles struck a pose, hands on his hips as the ends of his hair dripped down to the floor.

Scott rolled his eyes and gave Stiles a gentle shove. “Okay, thank you. You saved me a lot of headache, I don’t know if they would have ever gotten around to fixing it. You’re actually pretty useful to have around…though not when you’re making a puddle on my floor. C’mon.” He hopped off the end of the bar, slid a little, and gestured Stiles to come with him. “You can get cleaned up in my place, I actually get hot water there.”

Stiles paused, took a step back, his eyes widening just a little because oh.  _Ooooh._ Someone did a really good job. That someone was a particularly dashing spacer. Stiles smoothed his soggy collar and took a big bite of his sandwich before thinking twice of it and shoving the entire thing into his face. He was going to need to keep his strength up.

The entire trip down the hall, he watched Scott’s sashaying butt, ignoring his own drip drip dripping down the hall. Scott’s quarters were down a hall that was a lot nicer than most Stiles had seen on Alpha 16, just a hop, skip, and jump away from the bar. On the left was a half-kitchenette and about a thousand built-in cabins. On the right, a wall-length view screen took over. What made it stand out the most was how quiet it was. The tent camps hadn’t found it yet. Stiles left little puddles in his wake whenever he stopped to wring out his shirt. Not that it mattered, he thought gleefully. It was going to be on the floor very, very soon. He started flexing.

“Shit.” Scott cursed under his breath. Suddenly, Stiles was being shoved down the hall, a towel pressed in one hand, a large sweater in the other. “That was Aegis. We got a couple of rush orders. I have to head back.”

What. “ _What?_ ” Stiles was appalled. “You’re leaving?!”

Scott only shrugged. offering him a distracted smile as he rushed towards the door. Stiles could tell it was distracted because Scott wasn’t even looking at him!

“I could literally take everything you own!” Stiles said, sounding positively insulted.

The bartender stopped just outside his apartment, his head ducking into the little room. Scott was still laughing at him! “Right. Don’t do that please?”

Stiles sputtered, but it was already too late.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles grumbled as the bartender left him standing in the middle of his apartment, alone. What kind of person trusted a stranger enough to leave them alone in their own home? It would serve Scott right if he took everything in here and disappeared. Not that he would, but he _could_. Stiles huffed and settled for snooping.

It wasn’t any wonder that Scott wasn’t worried about any of his stuff being stolen, there wasn’t anything in here worth stealing anyways. The clothes were worn but serviceable and there weren’t any hidden stashes of credits anywhere to be found. Either Scott was better at hiding things than he thought or he didn’t keep any money here. There wasn’t even any food in his kitchen, the whole place completely spotless like it had never been used before.

The only thing strange was the collection of small toys, like souvenirs. Just cheap, useless crap picked up at trading posts for less than a credit. He touched a small Harian top, the glass reacting to the heat in his skin and swirling with color. These were the only things Scott bothered to keep? Maybe they had some sort of sentimental value he just couldn’t see.

He put the toy back on the shelf and shook his head, vowing to use up every drop of hot water he could. It wasn’t as good a reward as sex, but after months of tepid grey water showers, it was close. Stiles took his time, borrowing Scott’s dry clothes before sauntering back out into the station. At least he got into Scott’s pants one way or the other. Hey, that was a good line! He chuckled at himself and turned back towards Aegis to tell Scott before he forgot.

He locked eyes with Scott the moment he stepped into the bar. The first thing the bartender said to him was, “I see you’ve finally gotten into my pants.”

Then he burst out laughing.

Stiles hated him. He would hate him even more if he didn’t see the tiny little fist pump Scott gave himself. Stiles dragged himself to the bar with an exaggerated groan, flopping down heavily so he could fix Scott with his least impressed stare. Scott’s smile seemed extra warm right now. “I hate you. You are the worst thing in the history of things.”

“Uh, I think you mispronounced _the best.”_ Scott said. He sounded sympathetic, too. For fuck’s sake, Stiles wanted to keep him, and it only got worse when he dropped a credit disc in front of him. He checked the amount. It wasn’t his most profitable job, but Stiles had never been so disinclined to complain. “I took out a little for the sandwich but… Thank you.”

“Watching you prance around soaking wet is a hardship I’d happily get paid for,” Stiles insisted. Scott snorted at him, cutting him a look that said too much without needing to say a word, and Stiles wanted to ask him what he was doing on a dump like Alpha 16. Even without a credit to his name, with a smile like that, there would be all sorts of folks who’d whisk him across the universe. Some of them might even be decent. He bit down on his tongue before the question could slip out. “Well, can I get another? And something that… does not come out of a pipe.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Scott was gone with another one of those smiles. Stiles was beginning to realize that even if Scott was anything but stingy with them, he had a way of making you feel like the one you got was special.

Stiles openly stared after him, and couldn’t find it in him to regret it. He was so intent on watching him, he almost missed the Kilpo that sidled up to the bar. He thought nothing of him at first. It was probably one of the refugees, probably too young to have reached its second molting, bony enough that Stiles thought he could crack him in half.

There was something about the nervous way he kept fidgeting that kept Stiles’s attention. He was well versed in knowing what trouble looked like, he’d gotten into enough of it himself. The boy eyed the register, antenna twitching in agitation and bounced up on his toes as his fingers danced along the counter. Stiles took a swallow of his drink and winced, throat burning and tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Damn, Scott really didn’t play around with this. It felt like his insides were melting and he wheezed for air.

“You alright, dude?” Scott leaned over from the other side of the bar and the distraction was all the little Kilpo needed. He cracked his hand against the register, scooping out a fistful of credits and darting back through the crowd. Stiles yelped and slammed his glass down on the counter, taking off after the boy before he even realized he was moving. He was at a disadvantage, the Kilpo obviously knew all the ins and outs of Alpha 16 and was small enough to lose himself in the crowd.

If it had been anyone else, then it might have worked.

Stiles blinked, ocular implants flickering on as he scanned through the crowd. Kilpo’s had a lower body temperature than normal and it was easy to see where the heat train wove through the warmer bodies. He followed after it, racing through the lower corridors of the space station into the maintenance hallways before spying his prey. With a shout of victory, he tackled the Kilpo and sent them both sprawling.

“Give it back, you little thief!”

The boy wailed, mandibles clicking fearfully as Stiles ripped the credits out of his hand.

“Whoa, hey!” Scott leaned in the doorway, barely breathing hard from the chase. “Stiles, let the kid up.”

“I got him.” Stiles beamed, holding the young boy up by the scruff of his neck. “And I got your credits back. Stop squirming kid, you’re in big trouble now.”

The Kilpo babbled madly, words in human languages peppering his desperate apology, but his hands had started to tremble and boils began to from across his arm.

“Stiles, let him go.” Scott said, soft but stern, as he lowered into a crouch in front of the boy, stilling him with a hand on his wrist. Stiles watched in fascination as he spoke in fluent Kilpoan. That more than anything else seemed to calm the thief. Stiles squirmed uncomfortably. 

He couldn’t barely make out their conversation, recognizing only every sixth word of the language. It wasn’t much of a chat anyway. Scott did most of the talking, and when he got to his feet, the boy remained by his side, scuffing the heel of a tattered slipper against the floor.

“Thank you,” Scott said, taking the credits back from Stiles to count them. “I swear, things are normally a lot more quiet than this.” He sounded like he believed it, too. Then without a hint of hesitation, he handed a couple of chips to the Kilpo, and the little boy took off like a rocket. Stiles watched his progress with a sour smile.

“He was hungry.” Scott said, almost out of nowhere. Stiles recognized the tone of a man who was going to great lengths to pretend not to care at all. ”There’s never enough food to go around the camps.”

“You’re going to get in trouble for that?” He asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer. Scott scratched the back of his head and winced, confirming Stiles’s suspicions.

“Well… It’s not like there was anything we could have done. He was too fast for us.”

“Speak for yourself. If someone’s big butt hadn’t been in my way, I totally would’ve had the brat.” Stiles elbowed him in the ribs and snorted, slinging an all too familiar arm around the bartender’s shoulders. He caught glimpse of surprise on Scott’s face, before it was quickly morphed into open laughter.

There was always the chance that Scott had been part of the theft from the start, but in that moment, Stiles was sure that he’d done something right.

Scott melted against him and Stiles was almost surprised by how easy it was for the bartender to show his affection. It was almost naïve from the way he’d let the Kilpo go to how he’d trusted Stiles alone in his apartment. Stiles hadn’t ever met anyone so open before, it was almost terrifying to realize how much faith Scott had in other people. Instead of planning out how easy it would be to take advantage of it, he found himself strangely and fiercely protective. If Scott could find such happiness living in this pit, then no one was going to take it away from him. Not even Stiles himself.

That was definitely a new feeling.

“You really care too much, don’t you. How do you manage all of this?”

The bartender shrugged, not an easy task with Stiles draped across him like a blanket with too many elbows. “None of us have much here, but they really have nothing. A handful of credits isn’t worth it if it means the kid and his entire family can eat a meal tonight. I just wish I could do more.”

There was no way Scott could possibly be real. It was sad what was happening, but there were too many refugees and not enough room. Eventually, it was hard to see them as anything less than an annoyance. Scott seemed to be the exception to the rule and Stiles dragged him closer, knocking their heads together in the process.

“That’s twice I’ve saved you now, you know.”

“My hero!” Scott clutched at his chest and batted his eyes until Stiles poked him hard between the ribs and they sprang apart with a laugh. “You’re always there when I need you.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Well, you’re already wearing my pants. I don’t know how else to reward you.”

Stiles winked, confidence back. How had he ever doubted his own irresistible charm? “I’m sure you can think of a way.”

“Deal. Come by my apartment after close tonight and I’ll give you your reward, Spacer.”

_VICTORY!_


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles groaned, eyes fluttering as he swallowed in pleasure. He licked his lips to catch every drop before looking up at Scott through dark lashes. “Dude, it’s so good. I’ve been dreaming about your meat.”

“I’ve got plenty more if you think you can take it.” Scott said huskily as he set a second bowl of Spiced Aki soup in front of his guest. “It’s kind of my specialty and you look like you could use a home cooked meal.”

They sat on the ground around Scott’s coffee table in their socks, with Scott’s view screen showing off somewhere with a rich green sky.

Stiles groaned with complete and utter appreciation, eyes rolling in his head as he hurriedly pulled the bowl close. Sure he’d been disappointed when they’d first entered the house and Scott didn’t immediately strip, but he got over it very quickly. He spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to clean his spoon before going back for another scoop-full. He was pretty sure he orgasmed at one point. This just wasn’t fair.

Meanwhile, Scott sat across from him, his bowl still barely half full, and he’d started off with a smaller serving to begin with. “Easy buddy. I haven’t taken off my shirt yet.”

Stiles would totally have been up for insulting him, but his mouth was otherwise occupied. “This is unreal.” He whispered in humbled awe. "Is this the same Aki you use in the sandwiches? Why is this so unreal?”

“Well, I don’t really have an hour to make a sandwich at the bar, and the pulverizor here’s a lot newer.” Scott laughed. He went on to explain what that actually meant, and it sounded delicious, interesting even, but Stiles had toppled over and laid flat on his back. his arms stretched on either side of him.

“I think I’m dead. I think you killed me. Why aren’t you a chef, people would literally kill for food this good.” Stiles belched to make his point as Scott flopped over beside him, watching the images on the view screen fade into some beautifully bleak ice world with deep blue rings crossing the sky.

“It’s just a hobby.” Scott said, almost embarrassed by the compliments. “I don’t usually get to cook, it’s always easier to just grab some crap from the bar. There’s enough restaurants on the station and I like being behind the bar anyways. You don’t get to talk to people if you’re stuck back in the kitchen and one of the best perks of my job is that people tell you stories from all over the galaxy.”

That surprised Stiles and he rolled over to look at the other man. “Seriously? That’s your favorite part?”

“Well, yeah. I never really traveled and I’ve just been stuck here for so long. Someday I’m going to go see everything.”

“Who _are_ you?”  There was a fucking war on and Scott was talking about his dreams with such an infectious sort of hope that even Stiles found himself caught up in them. Too many years in a place like this should have killed those dreams a long time ago and he didn’t know if Scott was just stubborn or if he was missing a few screws in his head.

Scott’s hand thwacked heavily on Stiles’s stomach and he oofed. “Who do you think I am?”

“Someone told me that you’re basically the priest on board and people come to you for confession.” Those intense brown eyes turned on him and Stiles found his heart in his throat. Or maybe it was the spice soup.

“Are you going to tell me all your sins, Stiles?”

“I dunno, mine are pretty dry.” Stiles said, a little too airily. Scott snorted at him.

“Those oculars you got say otherwise.”

Scott hadn’t moved a muscle, but Stiles tensed, and he was sure the bartender felt it. Bartender stopped feeling right, especially a bartender who was stuck on a shitpile like Alpha 16. No regular bartender would have noticed technology that even the Galactic Government failed to catch, though they’d been distracted by butchering his prosthetic. What they’d left him with was functional for civilian life. Stiles wore gloves now because that still didn’t feel right.

Scott was immediately apologetic, and inched away just a smidgen to give him space. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

He sounded sincere. Stiles thought that was the worst part. He didn’t know if he was losing his touch, or if Scott really did mean it, but he knew for certain that a lot about his host wasn’t adding up. He just wished he’d started watching him sooner.

“They’re good ‘tics.” Stiles pointed out, his tone intentionally mild. What he meant was ‘no one should have seen.’

Scott sounded just like him when he replied. “I have an eye for them.”

An uneasy silence settled between them. Stiles was pointedly aware that he was unarmed on unfamiliar territory. Not vulnerable, not after the life he lived, but these weren’t the best odds. Then Scott let out the tiniest of sighs and another whispered apology. When he tried to pull away, Stiles couldn’t let him go.

He watched wary hope dance across Scott’s features. He was terribly easy to read, and that made all of this that much harder to swallow. “You know, I’d rather skip the confession altogether and go straight to where you grant me absolution?” Stiles said, and he could tell exactly when Scott’s smile started its way across his lips. “And I mean your dick.”

Scott laughed, plopping back down and sidled up to him, a terrible distraction that Stiles kept falling for again and again.

“I just… want to make things clear.” Scott said, and Stiles tried to focus on his words instead of the hand on his chest that felt impossibly warm. “This thing between us, it’s just for fun. I don’t want you to try to rescue me or whisk me away on your spaceship or whatever.”

Then his grin widened. “And I don’t mean your dick.”

“You should, it’s kind of a nice dick.” Stiles said, curling his fingers around the sides of Scott’s face and bringing him closer. The kiss was better than he’d even imagined, soft lips parted with a quiet sigh, gentle and eager. It didn’t take much for Scott to press in with a hunger that stole Stiles’s breath, hands tracing down his sides as shivers raced up Stiles’s spine. This was what he wanted, what he’d been teasing since they’d meant, but a part of him couldn’t believe that he’d actually succeeded.

God, Scott was just _pushy_ , fingers twisted in the fabric of Stiles’s shirt as he yanked the spacer down on top of him. His body lifted against him, hips slotting perfectly together as Scott arched back and broke the kiss with a huffed laugh. “Sometimes I forget how good another human feels. Everything just fits.”

“Dude, you haven’t seen anything.” Stiles snickered, dragging wet kisses down Scott’s neck, nipping against the jumping pulse. It would be easy to lose himself in his prize and Scott was more than willing, but something kept niggling in the back of his mind. He pulled away, brushing the black hair from Scott’s forehead and looked down into the young man’s face, lips already swollen and dark eyes half-lidded.

“Is something wrong? I thought this was what you wanted.”

“How did you know about the ocular implants? No one’s ever picked up on them before.”

Scott’s brow furrowed in confusion for a moment. “They’re not that hard to see.”

“Yes they are, Scott, that’s the point. They’re not supposed to be noticeable and I’ve never seen anyone figure them out before. So home come a bartender on a station in the middle of nowhere even knows what they are, let alone how to spot them?”

He could feel Scott’s body tense beneath him, exhaling one long breath. “Because I’ve seen them before.” Scott said carefully. “You’re not the only one with enhancements on the station. I know what kind of people transit through here and why. As long as people don’t cause trouble, we don’t ask questions and we don’t want to know, but people tell me things anyways. They tell me things they’ve never told anyone else and I help where I can, usually by just keeping their secrets.” He traced his fingers down Stiles’s cheek, looking into the light amber eyes that didn’t betray the hidden tech within. “Besides, you’ve managed to take up a lot of my attention lately.”

Stiles shuddered helplessly, smiling despite himself. He was always a sucker for a pretty - Scott. A pretty Scott. That was going to be a thing, holy shit, especially when Scott was right there and just, just human. All human. He let his oculars focus on everything they could pick up, his heat signatures,his fluttering pulse, the beats of sweat that slowly dragged down his throat. “But how-”

Scott groaned and nudged Stiles until he fell on his butt with a quiet _oomf._ “No, go ahead, I’m just gonna be down here.”

Stiles opened his mouth and closed it again, watching with stunned surprise as Scott showed him just down where. The bartender wiggled until he was kneeling between his legs and dropped a kiss on Stiles’s belly. He smiled with too much teeth as he yanked down Stiles’s sweatpants. “Don’t worry about it. I’m listening.”

Stiles wasn’t. Scott chose that moment to duck down and put his mouth on Stiles’s cock, an Stiles wasn’t doing much of anything other than thanking fate and destiny and all those other pretty things that he came to Alpha 16.

Who could worry about anything when Scott sucked him hard and looked at him with those wickedly dark eyes. Stiles groaned, trying to keep himself propped up on his elbows so he could watch a master at his craft. Scott took him deep, swallowing around him and muscles squeezing down until Stiles felt dizzy. He pulled off slowly, strands of drool glistening down to Stiles’s cock as he licked his lips.

“Holy _fuck_.”

“So you like that?” Scott asked, voice low and full of humor. He leaned down, mouthing down Stiles’s length before running his tongue down to his balls as the spacer mumbled an incoherent curse. Scott was eager, spreading Stiles wider to kiss along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and running his tongue along the sensitive head of his cock. He was a maddening tease and Stiles’s trembling arms gave out, sending him flopping back with a huff.

“C’mon.” He ordered breathlessly, hips bucking insistently as Scott swallowed him down again. “Yeah, just like that. You feel so good, baby. Work that pretty little mouth of yours.”

Scott chuckled around him, fumbling at his own clothes. This was his apartment, his floor. If they were going to do this, Scott wanted to make sure he’d get to enjoy as much of the spacer as he could.

He moved like he was putting on a show, performing for his audience, and Stiles had the best seat in the house. His shirt fell away, and Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes off the long slope of tanned muscle that curved from Scott’s slender shoulders to the shadows across his lower back. Stiles wasn’t a religious man, but you could’ve gotten an amen.

Scott was hot and wet and tight, so much better than anything he’d had in far too long. Stiles had gone to deep space, but Scott was going even deeper and he didn’t realize he’d said that out loud until the bartender chuckled around his dick. _Fuck_ that had no right to feel so good.

“I know what I want.” Scott said, and Stiles had no idea how someone could manage to sound so damn good when they sounded so damn smug. He pulled away, mouth shiny and slick, and Stiles couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and kissing him. 

“Me?” Stiles asked, wrinkling his nose. He pulled Scott under him, not even giving him time to breathe. Scott laughed and wiggled beneath him moving and tussling until he had Stiles pinned to the ground, and he kissed him again, slower this time, sweeter, and Stiles was going to hump his thigh into next week.

“ _You.”_ Then he dug a small canister out of the table and tossed it at Stiles’s head. “I want you to get me open for you.”

He was pulling Stiles’s shirt off before Stiles could warn him. He paused with a hand on Stiles’s chest, just before his shoulder gave way to his prosthetic. The skin on his arm felt human, but it was a shade too close to orange for his liking. Cutting edge tech was not what the Galactic Government was happy to share.

Scott carefully traced the seam between flesh and synthetic flesh, expression unreadable before he took Stiles’s hands in his own and placed them on his hips. It was an invitation that Stiles couldn’t refuse and an easy acceptance he never expected. The canister popped open and the lube was cold on his fingers as he plunged them deep into Scott’s clutch, fucking him slowly with two fingers to open him up. The bartender responded to his every touch, lifting his ass higher and rocking back against Stiles’s hand. His cock dragged down against the spacer’s stomach, trailing precum across his skin.

“You’re so pretty.” It wasn’t the most eloquent compliment, it didn’t have any of the suave or swagger he was hoping for, but it was breathlessly honest. Something about it made Scott’s checks flush as he leaned down to kiss the sweet words from Stiles’s lips.

“Come on.” Scott wiggled his hips insistently as Stiles teased against his hole. In one jerking thrust, he buried himself in Scott’s tight warmth, jaw falling open as he watched the other man slowly ride against him. Sweat slid down his dark skin, catching the golden glow from the view screen, an alien sunset spilling down his arched back as he braced his hands against Stiles’s chest. His hips circled slowly, utterly in control as Stiles tried his best to keep up with him, short stuttering thrusts demanding more.

Stiles had never wanted to kiss him more. He keened in earnest, legs trembling as he tried to keep steady, his feet pressed against the floor, knees pointing towards the ceiling. His hands stroked up Scott’s side, fingers fanning out over his back. He could feel them move with every thrust, coiling and clenching in effort as Scott impaled himself on Stiles’s cock, going for harder and deeper every time.

Stiles inhaled sharply, eyes glassy with want. He could barely breath, gasping for air again and again, but that didn’t stop the litany of obscene praise that spilled from his lips. “Fuck, Scott. Scotty, like that just like that oh fuck you feel so good.”

Scott _laughed._ A strangled, husky sound that went straight to Stiles’s chest and gut and dick, making him impossibly harder, buried in Scott’s silky heat. “I wanted you to be a talker,” he breathed, a quiet confession that Stiles would never forget. “The moment you walked into the bar. Mouthy wise-ass. I wanted you to be.”

The moment he’d - Stiles groaned, trembling all the way down to his toes, and they curled helplessly across Scott’s floor. It was too much, too much, and Scott tugged on his hair _hard,_ forcing his head up so he could lick his way into his mouth.

“Not yet, Spacer,” he hissed. Stiles could feel him make the words against his teeth. “I’m not done with you yet.”

“Please.” Stiles knew he was begging, but he couldn’t stop the words from escaping as Scott swallowed each one down with a wicked smile. He pulled off, lifting his hips until only the head of Stiles’s cock was still sheathed within him and refused to let his partner thrust no matter how the spacer snarled and swore.

Scott’s hand closed around Stiles’s wrist, guiding him down between them to grasp his own neglected dick. He stroked himself with Stiles’s hand, the other man picking up the cues quickly and squeezing fat drops of precum from his thick cock as Scott hung his head with a groan. Sweat gathered on the ends of his black hair before dripping down to Stiles’s flushed chest, the pale skin mottled red with exertion. “I want you to use that mouth.”

“Gonna fuck you until you scream, Scotty.” Stiles croaked, rubbing his thumb along the underside of Scott’s cockhead. “Gonna make you bounce on my dick until you come on me. I wanna watch you lick it up, god _fuck-_ ” The rest of his words died off into an unintelligible growl as Scott sank back down, hips fitting perfectly together. With one hand on his hip to guide him and the other wrapped tight around him, all Stiles could do was watch Scott work his magic through unfocused eyes.  

Scott came with a shuddering gasp that Stiles convinced himself was his name, spilling wet cum in stripes across his belly.

But it was Stiles who screamed, bucking wildly as Scott bore down on him with such delicious pressure. He was delirious with want, fighting for air, and Scott wouldn’t let him go, not until Stiles came apart with a choked sob. He collapsed in a boneless heap, shivering through the aftershocks of his orgasm, and the last thing he thought of was how bright Scott’s eyes were when he smiled.

When he woke up, he was in Scott’s bedroom with no recollection of how he got there, but it was hard to care when there was a sandwich on the table to his right and a nice warm blanket of attractive bartender on his leg, clinging to him like they were glued together.

“Hey spacer,” Scott murmured warmly when Stiles shifted. “Thought I lost you for a second there.”

Stiles turned around and cuddled closer. Who was he to deny Scott’s hospitality? Especially when it made the bartender smile so wide, his eyes crinkled in the corner. It lasted up until Stiles opened his mouth.

“Now _that’s_ what I call a trip into deep space.”

Scott had the nicest laugh.

“I’m surprised you didn’t make a black hole reference.”

“I’ve got to save some good material for the next time.” Stiles said, inordinately pleased with himself. Everything ached with a satisfied exhaustion and he was in no hurry to move when the bed was so soft and Scott’s fingers traced aimless circles across his skin. Maybe there was something to that whole Scott being a priest thing, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so relaxed or at peace. If that wasn’t salvation, it sure as hell felt like it.

Scott quirked one dark eyebrow. “ _Next_ time? You’re being pretty presumptuous.”

“I’d like to think it’s more optimism.” Stiles chased his mouth for a kiss that Scott willingly surrendered.

“Yeah, we’ll see, Spacer. Make yourself comfortable, you can stay the night tonight. It would be cruel to kick you out so late. Tomorrow, one of the Captains I know is scheduled to arrive. If you want a job on their crew, look for Jjil on the Behemoth and say you can impress them. Things might be finally turning around for you.”

“Let’s think about that later.” Stiles grabbed Scott around the middle and rolled him over in a tangle of sheets as the other man yelped in surprise, burrowing down next to him until Scott’s arms were snug around his waist, his warm chest pressed against Stiles’s back.

“I’m gonna get crumbs on your mattress,” Stiles said, reaching for the table, and he knew he was gloating. Scott snorted ungraciously.

“Ass.”

“Right back at’ya.” Stiles tried to speak around a mouthful of sandwich, and he didn’t think he could be happier until he felt Scott kiss his bare shoulder, right over a metal joint. When the bartender stole half of his snack, he couldn’t even regret it.

* * *

 

Aegis was quiet. The lunch rush had just cleared out and try as it might, it was falling into a lull that left the bartender with too much time on his hands. He watched the clock. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. The Behemoth would be leaving at four. Not too long at all.

It was always the same song and dance. Scott knew it by heart. He hadn’t taken Stiles to the docking bay, hadn’t helped him packed his bags, hadn’t done anything a grieving partner would, but he kissed him goodbye before he left for work. He watched an all too familiar question dance on the tip of his tongue, watched him squirm and fight to hide it. _Come with me,_ Scott thought he would say. Stiles didn’t seem like the sort to ask questions when he could give orders.

But the spacer hadn’t. Scott liked him more for it.

Stiles’s last words to him were. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Then Scott pinched his butt.

The bartender watched four o’clock come and go and life stayed the same. Scott sighed and went back to work, sending out drink refills for Table 4.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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